


In the End It's Always You

by TopHatCat



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, F/M, Fluff, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Pre-Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), Red Dead Redemption 2 Spoilers, Smut, Time Skips, Unhappy Ending, Unhealthy Relationships, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), Whump, canon ending, vandermatthews
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:15:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26472469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TopHatCat/pseuds/TopHatCat
Summary: Hosea and Dutch love each other dearly, but sometimes they just aren't good for each other at all.A look at key moments over the course of these two and their relationships from a sometimes precious, sometimes dark point of view.
Relationships: Annabelle/Dutch van der Linde (implied), Bessie Matthews/Hosea Matthews, Hosea Matthews & Dutch van der Linde, Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 12
Kudos: 36





	In the End It's Always You

**Author's Note:**

> This is a look at the messed up side of Dutch and Hosea's relationship, and also at Hosea and Bessie's relationship. Seeing as I generally write the Vandermatthews two as very happy and fluffy, I took a darker turn with this fic. It bounces around a bit, exploring some major moments of their love lives. The Bessie moments are plain ol' precious though.
> 
> Warning for: 𝗧𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀/𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗰𝘂𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗲. 𝗗𝘂𝗯𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝘀𝗲𝘅𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘁. 𝗗𝗿𝘂𝗻𝗸 𝘀𝗲𝘅. 𝗔𝗹𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗺. 𝗖𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵.

1878.

“Do you love me?”

Dutch almost choked on his cigarette smoke. He glanced over at the man lying in bed next to him, but Hosea’s gaze was aimed straight ahead. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest as he sat propped up against the pillows, the cigarette in his fingers clearly forgotten.

“What sort of question is that?”

“A plain and simple one, I would have thought,” came the reply, but there wasn’t much bite to the words.

Dutch took a long drag to postpone his answering. Love…he’d thought about it before, sure, but he’d always associated the word with silly newlyweds or…romance novels. It wasn’t a thing he’d thought would ever apply to him.

Then again…he’d never quite known love, had he? He wasn’t sure if his mother had loved him. Cared for him, yes, as much has he had for her, but loved him? Dutch didn’t know. This…thing he had with Hosea, he’d simply fallen into it, and they’d come together so naturally that he never wondered what exactly it was. Did a person question why their lungs pumped air, or their brain processed thoughts? It was one of those things that just _happened_.

“Do you love me?” he asked, and Hosea huffed out a breath, sounding irritated now.

“Don’t you go putting this on me. I asked you first.”

No, I-.” Dutch pushed himself up on one elbow. “That’s not what I meant. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to say, I guess.”

That was the wrong answer, apparently. Hosea let out another breath and uncrossed his arms, extinguishing his cigarette in the ashtray. Pushing back the covers, he made to get out of bed and Dutch rolled over quickly, wrapping his arms around Hosea’s waist and trapping him.

“Please let go,” Hosea said, but Dutch didn’t. “You’re going to burn me.”

“Wait,” he said. “Let me explain.”

Hosea plucked the cigarette from his fingers, stubbing it out beside the other, but he kept silent and didn’t pull free, so Dutch took that as agreement to hear him out.

“I’m not sure what love is,” he said slowly. “Don’t think I’ve had the chance to really feel it. At least, no one’s ever said they loved me. Always thought it was a superficial thing, like a bouquet of roses. They look so pretty, but just end up dying, no matter if you put them in a vase of water or not.”

Hosea remained motionless in his arms, stiff even, and Dutch hurried to continue.

“So I guess I don’t know that sort of love, the kind that most folk are used to. But what I do know is this.” He rested his forehead on Hosea’s back, wanting to feel the muscles there relax. “When I look at you, I feel the same sort of rush as watching at the prettiest sunset, and holding you is worth more than having the reins of a prize horse in my hands, and I’d rather see you smile once than ever look up at the stars again. You’re the sun and the moon to me.”

As he talked, Hosea’s rigid form eased in his grasp, and hands came to settle on his arms. When he was finished speaking, Dutch placed a single long kiss on the man’s spine. Hosea twisted around and Dutch looked up to find warm hazel eyes gazing down at him.

“I love you too,” he said quietly, and Dutch’s heart expanded in his chest.

 _‘Oh,’_ he thought as Hosea kissed him, _‘So this is what it feels like….’_

-

“Bessie?”

Hosea stood just inside the kitchen door, pushing damp hair off his forehead as he looked around the small main room. It was empty of any human company, though Copper lay in front of the fire on a rug. He lifted his head when Hosea entered the house, tail thumping on the ground, tongue lolling out in a puppy-dog grin.

“Where is everyone, boy?” Hosea asked, hanging his hat on the hook and taking his boots off, positioning them neatly by the door. Arthur’s hat and coat were gone from the hooks, telling him the young man was away from the house, and he recalled John telling him that morning that the boys were going into town with Susan. With any luck, they hadn’t started back yet, and could stay somewhere dry until the rain blew past.

Faint music sounded from somewhere deeper in the house, proving that it was not abandoned. Chopped vegetables and a pot of water over the stove told him that someone, Bessie most likely, had been in the process of making dinner recently. Hosea was glad; the familiar task would no doubt bring some normality into the woman’s life, and hopefully, some comfort.

 _‘She’s had too little of that in her life recently,’_ Hosea thought as he wandered farther into the room toward the hall. It had only been a few weeks since she, he, and Dutch had fled her homestead…leaving her husband dead and Bessie more than troubled after what had happened to her at his hands. Although she had expressed nothing but gratitude toward the two men for what they done for her, Hosea couldn’t help but feel guilty.

 _‘Don’t think about it,’_ he thought as he stepped into the short hallway. The image of Bessie lying on the ground, beaten and bruised, arms wrapped uselessly around her stomach…and later, how the blood had run between her legs, too much blood…was burned into his mind, and he could still feel her iron grip on his hand as Susan looked up at them, exhausted and teary-eyed as she shook her head. It didn’t matter that the child hadn’t been his…he felt as if a part of him had been ripped away as Bessie clung to him, and he felt responsible for the loss.

He suddenly felt bad for leaving her alone in the house all day, and moved down the corridor to the room she and Susan had been sharing since they rented out this place (Hosea had refused to let her stay in some falling apart hovel). Upon reaching the door, he heard the music was coming from inside, and he paused, hand just over the knob. Instead, he leaned forward a bit, looking past the half-open door that concealed most of the room.

Inside, the curtains were pulled open, letting in what little sunlight came through the clouds. A lamp was lit, sending a warm glow over the sparsely furnished bedroom, and in the center was Bessie, swaying in time to the music.

Her arms were wrapped around herself, and she was humming as she moved in circles as much as the small space would allow. Yellow skirts swirled about her ankles, giving Hosea a glimpse of her bare feet that took slow but confident steps on the threadbare carpet. Her head was tipped back, letting her strawberry blond hair cascade down her back in loose, shameless waves that made Hosea’s breath hitch. Her blue eyes were closed, long pale leashes settled over blush cheeks, and beneath them, a faint smile graced her lips. The smile wasn’t particularly big, nor bright, but it was content, and Hosea realized that he had never seen her without some hardship weighing on her shoulders. It came to him then that her smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, better than a sunset over the plains, or a crystal river, or a distant mountain range. As he watched her dance by herself to the gramophone’s symphony, he knew without a doubt that she outshone all such things and the sun itself.

The door at the other end of the hall opened then, the door to the room he and Dutch shared, and the other man stepped out with a book in his hand. He grinned when he caught sight of Hosea and began to speak, saying,

“There you are! I just finished reading-.”

But Hosea lifted a finger to his lips, hushing him, and Dutch swallowed his next words, instead creeping up to Hosea’s shoulder and whispering, “What?”

Hosea simply pointed, a smile growing on his face as he did, and Dutch looked into the room, at Bessie, and then back to the man by his side.

-

It was in that moment that he knew he’d lost Hosea completely. He watched the rush of happiness rise to the man’s face, making Hosea’s eyes shine and his entire being practically _glow_ with love as he watched Bessie dance. It had been coming, he’d seen the inevitable end barreling toward him and yet he’d done nothing to stop it or slow it’s arrival. Long months had passed since he’d looked at Hosea the way the man was looking at Bessie, and he’d hardly even realized it. He had let himself take Hosea for granted and now it was too late.

“I’ve never seen her so…peaceful,” Hosea said when they were in the main room again. “I’m so happy she’s feeling better.”

He said it with apprehension in his tone and Dutch felt his eyes watching him. He knew what Hosea was really saying, what he _wanted_ to say but was too afraid to, for now.

_I love her._

Well, Dutch wouldn’t show any of what he was feeling, wouldn’t admit that he knew the truth of it.

“Me too,” was his only response as he poured a cup of water from the pitcher by the sink. A small bit of water splashed over the rim of the cup onto the floor and he muttered a soft curse. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hosea wander to the fire and kneel down beside Copper, scratching behind the dog’s ears. When the man was involved with the animal, Dutch looked at him, really _looked_ , trying to see him with the same eyes Hosea had looked at Bessie with.

It wasn’t difficult.

Dutch had never needed a particular reason to love Hosea. It had come to him so naturally he’d hardly recognized it was love. He’d been taken with the sharp hazel eyes and fine features from the moment they met…had adored his mind long before worshipping his body. The smart words and quick smile, strong soul and gentle touch…how had he forgotten to treasure such a man? 

He knew without a doubt that if he saw all of this, it was inevitable that Bessie did too, and there was no chance in hell he could reclaim what he had once considered his, because therein lay the problem. At some point he had begun to treat Hosea as a possession, and so Hosea had seen him as a captor, and acted accordingly. Bessie saw him as a human being, and Dutch had forgotten to do the same.

The music from the bedroom stopped and Dutch realized he had poured so much water in the cup it had overflowed somewhat. As Hosea chuckled and he searched for a towel, Bessie entered the room, her expression brightening when she saw Hosea.

“You’re back,” she said. “How was hunting?”

“Terrible,” he replied, getting swiftly to his feet and crossing to her as though pulled along an invisible string. “But I don’t mind…your vegetable soup is good enough.”

“It’s nothing special,” she sighed, taking his hand, and Dutch saw a tremble run through Hosea’s entire body as she closed her warm palms over his fingers. “Your hands are cold…are you shivering? Go sit by the fire while I finish up supper.”

“I’m fine.” Hosea’s voice was soft. “Let me help you with the chopping.”

She blushed and agreed, and Dutch mopped up the water he spilled as he watched them fall in love.

-

“I can’t tell her how I feel,” Hosea cried into the pillow only a few days later. Dutch sat at the desk in their bedroom, the pen he had been using frozen over the journal’s page. “She’s a lady, a good one, with standards and common sense, and I’m- well, I’m a _villain_.”

His cries became heavier and Dutch wondered how long he’d held them back before he came bursting into the room a few moments before and crashed onto the bed to wet the pillowcase with tears. Such passionate outbursts were Dutch’s specialty, and the correct way to respond to this situation was eluding him.

Hosea pushed himself up, using his sleeve to wipe his nose. His eyes and cheeks were red. He sat slumped in the middle of the mattress and rubbed his eyes until Dutch was sure they stung. “What’s so wrong with wanting to _love_ someone? Can’t I love? Can’t I be loved back? It’s not _fair_.”

Dutch stared down at his knuckles turning white around the pen in his grasp and told himself to keep his own mouth shut. _Don’t you dare hurt him,_ the intelligent voice in his head warned, but the words that escaped past his tongue said,

“ _I_ love you,” as he turned in the chair to face the bed and its occupant. “ _I_ love you, Hosea.”

“I don’t want _you_ to love me,” came the snappy reply, and Dutch felt something sharp and cold pierce deep into his heart.

Hosea seemed to realize what he’d said, for his expression changed from angry to regretful the moment Dutch felt his own face fall.

“Dutch…I, I didn’t mean…. I love you, I do, you’re just….”

“Just not what you want.” Dutch’s hurt was fast turning to anger. Unfounded, he knew, but logic was losing to the emotions in his head. “Fine, throw away…how many years has it been now? Twelve, thirteen? I suppose they meant nothing to you.”

“Of _course_ they do,” Hosea said, running his hands through his hair, looking like he couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. “But things change, sometimes Dutch, they just _do_. We’ve gotten older, we- we’ve gone through so much and sometimes I just don’t _know_ anymore.”

Dutch’s throat felt tight, constricting his breath. _Don’t hurt him, don’t hurt him-_ “What else should I expect from a man who lies for a living. You’d _abandoning me_ for _her_?”

“I would, yes!” Hosea’s voice rose to match Dutch’s, loud and painful in the room. “If she loved me! That’s something you have forgotten how to do!”

Dutch was trembling as he stood up, and his hands found Hosea’s shoulders, pushing him back down onto the bed, pinning him there. “ _I love you_ ,” he growled, terrified at how awful and meaningless the phrase sounded in his ears. Words weren’t enough; he needed to show Hosea he loved him even if it hurt, even if it hurt both of them. He could do it, if he wanted to.

And Hosea would let him, because he loved Dutch, no matter what he did.

That realization sent all of the anger crashing down in ruins around him, and the haze that clouded his eyes vanished, letting him see clearly the man beneath him. Tears were pooling, un-shed in Hosea’s eyes, and one hand cradled his head where he’d hit the wall when Dutch shoved him backwards. His body was tense like coiled wire where it was held down, but he wasn’t trying to get free…he was simply waiting for Dutch to choose his next move.

“I-, I-.” His voice cracked as he pushed himself away from Hosea, frantically creating space between them until he was up against the door. “I’m sorry-.”

Words failed him again. Hosea sat up slowly, rubbing his head gingerly before getting unsteadily to his feet. He crossed to the door and put his hand on the knob without looking at other man. It took a moment, but Dutch’s senses finally kicked in and he swiftly moved aside. Hosea pulled the door open, then lifted his gaze to Dutch’s face, brows knit together.

“Prove you’re sorry,” he said, and fled the room, leaving Dutch alone and numb.

-

Hosea was sitting on the front steps reading when Dutch came out onto the porch. He carefully avoided looking at the man, pretending to be engrossed in his book, and he felt more than saw Dutch stop at the top of the steps.

It had been nearly three days since their ‘altercation’ as Hosea was calling it in his head. They’d spoken little since then, something that hadn’t gone unnoticed by the others in the house. Bessie had tried several times to get them both engaged in conversation, and it warmed his heart to see her trying so hard to fix them, though she had no idea why they had broken. He wondered if she would react differently if she knew part of the breaking was because of her.

“You got a moment?”

Hosea didn’t glance up, methodically reading the same sentence over and over. “Why?”

“Someone wants to talk to you.”

He heard the door open again and it was her; he could tell simply by her footfalls on the wooden boards. Lifting his head, he closed the book and observed the two of them standing awkwardly above him. Bessie was looking at him, hands clasped behind her back, and Dutch’s eyes landed on everything _but_ him.

“Hosea,” Bessie said, hesitant, and his heart leapt into his throat.

 _‘What did Dutch tell her,’_ he thought, panic flooding his lungs and stomach. _‘What did he say that’s got her so nervous?’_

Anxiety clawing its way up his throat, he rose to his feet and tried to keep his expression light as he asked, “Yes? Have you something to say to me?”

Bessie’s eyes flicked to Dutch and he nodded curtly, only sending Hosea’s nerves spiraling even more. The woman took in a deep breath and then held out her hands. Hosea moved to the top step and took them.

“It’s been a while that I’ve- well, you see, I thought that perhaps-.” She stuttered, the words coming out uneven, like the beats of Hosea’s heart. “The short of it is, I felt a way for a while now, and Dutch, well, Dutch asked me about it because I was too nervous to admit it myself. I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same, you know…considering our lifestyles have been so different, but he _insists_ I tell you, so here we are….”

She looked at Dutch once more and Hosea did the same, then faced her again. “T-tell me,” he said, his voice shaking, and she seemed to find strength in his fragility.

“I think I’m in love with you, Hosea,” she said, the words coming out in a rush. “For a good while now…maybe ever since I sewed up that arm of yours and you thanked me for it. You kissed me a while back and I wondered if it was an outlaw’s show…because it didn’t feel like one. I don’t know.” Her fingers squeezed his. “I don’t dare to ask if you feel the same.”

“I think I’ve loved you since rescued us from that barn,” Hosea murmured, the fast beating of his heart now for an entirely different reason. “I suppose I thought I’d stumbled upon an angel who’d fallen to earth.”

Bessie let out a laugh, a surprised, sparkling sound, and Hosea’s face broke into a smile so wide it crinkled his eyes. She threw herself into his arms, nearly sending them tumbling down the steps, and he hugged her back with a joyous chuckle.

“Thank goodness!” she said in his ear, “That was terrifying!”

“For me too,” Hosea stammered, soaking in the feel of her so close to him, her hair, her arms, her hands gripping his vest like she never wanted to let go. His eyes turned on Dutch, who was still standing there, watching them, and he held out one hand, the other still clutching Bessie to his chest.

Dutch stared at the hand for a moment before carefully taking it, and Hosea whispered, ‘thank you’, pressuring down slightly on the man’s fingers to accentuate his words. Dutch didn’t say anything, just nodded, but on his face a small smile grew.

-

“I’m horrible.”

“No, you’re not.”

“We can turn around. I’m sure we can get the house back.”

“No, we’re not doing that.”

“What if we turn off here-.”

Bessie turned in the wagon seat, and took her husband’s face firmly in her hands, turning his head so he had to look her in the eyes. “Darling, we’re not turning this wagon around, we’re not going back to the cabin, and we’re certainly not following any path that doesn’t take us to camp.” Releasing him, she shook out the map again. “We’re nearly there, if what Arthur told us is right. It’s just around this hill.”

Hosea flicked the reins, urging the horses to continue on. “I love you,” he said, and Bessie smiled.

“Oh, I know you do.”

“I just feel-.”

“Whatever regrets you have will be gone when you see your boys again,” Bessie said. “Believe me.”

And she was right. They pulled into camp to Pearson shouting, “The Matthews are BACK, everyone!”, as Hosea reined in the horses. Tent flaps flew open as John came barreling out, hopping around the wagon like a little kid as the two climbed down. He was grinning like an idiot and Hosea was doing the same, and they shared a handshake that dissolved into a hug. Bessie got one as well and she threw a pointed _I told you_ look over the teen’s shoulder at the man.

“It’s about time you two came back,” Susan said, all smiles and maybe a few tears. “Trying to run this camp as it’s only _logical_ member is exhausting.”

“Have no fears, Susan,” Bessie said as the women shared an embrace. “We’re here to stay.”

“Where’s-?” Hosea began to ask, but then a shouted,

“Hosea!” rang across camp and the man was spinning around to watch Arthur jog toward them, Copper bounding along ahead. Hosea opened his arms for a hug, but Arthur merely gave him a long handshake. Bessie saw her husband’s smile falter a bit, but then it was back as Arthur began excitedly telling him about a rescued horse as the others hovered around their newly returned friend like he was a beacon.

“Let the man settle in before you start chewing his ear off,” Susan said, bopping Arthur gently on the back of the head, and Hosea waved her away.

“I don’t mind! I want to hear everything that we missed! I-.”

His words choked off suddenly, and Bessie followed his gaze to a spot on the opposite side of the camp where Dutch had just appeared. The man was holding a string of fish and a pole, feet bare and muddy, and he looked like he had just seen a ghost. As Hosea broke away from the group, drifting toward the outlaw, Bessie sidled over to Arthur and whispered,

“Did you, um, tell Dutch we were coming back?”

“No,” Arthur said quietly. “Should I have?”

“Hm.” Bessie watched as the two men met in the middle of camp. They stood for a moment, too far away to hear if any words were exchanged, and then Dutch dropped the fish and pole and fairly melted into Hosea’s arms. She gave the young man a smile that was a little sad and very relieved as Hosea buried his face in Dutch’s hair. “No…I think this went just fine.”

-

“I _swear to god_ , if anything happened to her-.”

“ _Nothing_ has happened. She’ll be okay.”

“If Colm has laid a _single_ finger on her I will rip out his guts and _feed them to him_!”

“Annabelle’s gonna be fine, Dutch,” Arthur piped up from where he rode a little bit behind Dutch and Hosea. “Colm wouldn’t do anything stupid like that.”

“Listen to the boy,” Hosea said, leaning over to pat Dutch’s arm. “Everything will turn out alright.”

It was only a few moments later when they reached camp and it became clear to them that everything was very _not_ alright. John came sprinting up to the horses, Susan screaming after him to _STOP_ and _GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW_ , but the teen flew to Dutch’s horse, grabbing the man’s trouser leg as he reined in.

“Grimshaw said not to tell yet, but it ain’t fair,” John sobbed. “It ain’t fair!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dutch growled, and Arthur was already off his horse, dragging John back and shaking him.

“What? What is it?”

“JOHN MARSTON!”

Susan came storming up to the group, yanking John around by his arm and slapping him sharply across the face. “What did I say? _What did I say_?”

“ _Susan_!” Dutch yelled, sliding off his horse, and Hosea’s heart plummeted with him. “Tell me!”

John was crying too hard now to speak, his face red from tears and Susan’s blow, and Arthur grabbed his brother, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, face stony. Susan took in a deep breath, looking like she was going to burst into tears herself as Hosea rounded the horses to stand at Dutch’s shoulder.

“D-Davey found her,” she said, “An hour ago. They just dumped her at the edge of camp and left, the bastards.”

Dutch’s face had gone white, and he shoved his way past Susan further into camp where the Callander brothers were standing rigidly in front of his tent. They stepped aside, whispering, “Sorry, Dutch,” as the outlaw burst through the flaps, Hosea on his heels.

Bessie was sitting beside the cot, and on it lay Annabelle. The woman’s eyes were closed and her skin and clothes were torn and stained with blood. Dutch entered calling her name and Bessie stood up from the chair; her words were directed at the outlaw, but her eyes went to Hosea.

“She…she’s already gone. I’m sorry, Dutch.”

The man stood for a frozen moment, then a wail erupted from his throat and he fell to his knees beside the body of the woman. His hands curled into the cloth of her tattered skirt as he hid his face in her side. Bessie moved back, coming up beside Hosea, and he put his arms around her.

“Sweetheart, my wildflower,” Dutch sobbed, lifting his head to look into Annabelle’s still face. He ran a trembling hand over her hair and caressed her cheek, touching her eyelids as if willing them to open. “What’s he done to you? What’s he done…?”

Bessie looked quizzically up at Hosea and he whispered, “Colm,” and her face grew hard with hate.

“Colm,” Dutch echoed, voice strained. His hand went to his hip, found his revolver, and Hosea let go of Bessie, pushing her back. “Colm O’Driscoll, you filthy BASTARD!”

Dutch surged to his feet, drawing his gun as he did, shouting, “I’ll _kill_ you, you son of a bitch-!” then he swayed, and Hosea leapt forward, slinging arms around his friend’s middle as his knees buckled and he collapsed.

“Susan!” he shouted, “Mac-, _someone_!”

The others must have been lurking just outside, since four different people tried to enter at his call. Susan pushed Pearson and Davey back upon witnessing the scene, letting Mac enter and help Hosea ease Dutch down to the floor. The outlaw seemed a stupor, eyes glazed over and staring at nothing, his body mostly limp but for one hand that held Hosea’s wrist in a death grip. Bessie moved forward and carefully took the gun from his grasp and slipped the other out of its holster. Hosea nodded his thanks, and then said to Mac,

“Let’s put him to our tent, mine and Bessie’s. Quick, while we still can get him out of here without a fight.”

“Right, boss,” Mac said, his voice holding an uncharacteristic waver. He took up Dutch’s feet and the two carried him out, leaving Bessie to cover Annabelle with a blanket.

Half an hour later Hosea was sitting on the edge of his own bed, adjusting a cold cloth on Dutch’s forehead. Everyone else had gone back to somewhat normal tasks, though they did them with an air of confusion and disconnect. Arthur and John had not shown up yet, and Pearson said he’d seen them walking off into the woods after Dutch went in by Annabelle’s body.

“Let them have their time,” Bessie said when Davey offered to find them. “We all need to…to cope in our own ways.”

Hosea let out a long sigh. Annabelle had been everything Dutch needed…tough, smart, didn’t put up with any of his nonsense. She had been the perfect addition to the family, and now….

“Damn,” he whispered, and felt Dutch shift beside him. He wiped his eyes furiously on his sleeve; it wouldn’t do to be seen crying, not when Dutch needed him strong and put-together. His eyes were dry when Dutch opened his, staring blearily up at the canvas roof.

“Hey,” Hosea said gently, to let him know he was there, and Dutch’s gaze blinked toward him.

“She-,” he croaked out, and Hosea bit his lip.

“She’s gone,” he whispered, and Dutch shook his head, causing the cloth to slip.

“No. She…is she-, they didn’t _do_ anything to her, did they?”

“What do you mean?”

Dutch let out a pained noise, like a wounded animal. “‘ _Sea_. Please.”

“I don’t….” Hosea was at a loss. “Darling, they killed her.”

“Did they _touch_ her?”

He understood then, and his hand wrapped protectively around Dutch’s, squeezing hard. “Oh, _no_. No. Bessie looked her over and I _promise_ they didn’t do anything like that. I swear.”

Dutch let out a shuddering breath that turned into quiet sobs. Trying to turn onto his side, he found himself trapped under the blankets Hosea sat on, and his movements became almost frantic, clawing at the blankets and shoving them down.

Hosea stood quickly, hovering, and Dutch rolled onto his stomach, clutching the pillow.

“What do you want from me?” Hosea asked to his friend’s trembling back.

“Leave me alone,” came the muffled reply, and Hosea’s hands curled into fists. He had no anger, only emotions he desperately wanted to keep control of.

“I won’t.”

Dutch’s shoulders heaved upward in a deep breath before he turned his face out of the pillow and away toward the wall, but his words were clear.

“Then hold me like you used to,” he whispered.

So Hosea did.

-

Hosea walked into Dutch’s tent three weeks after Bessie’s death.

It was long past dinner, the moon had risen, and Dutch had retired to his tent to read a book and distract himself from the day. There had been no good days since Bessie’s passing, only bad ones with slightly okay ones scattered here and there. He’d hoped that getting Hosea away from the house his wife had died in would do something for the man, but the downward spiral of grief and drink only seemed to worsen as time passed.

The entire camp was on edge, all of them unsure what to do around Hosea, how to treat him. Tilly was the best at interacting with him, bringing him flowers and drawings she did with Arthur, little things that briefly brought a smile to his wan, haggard face. But even a child trying her best wasn’t enough, and as each day passed Dutch wondered what the hell they were supposed to be doing.

Mac and Davey busied themselves with jobs, sometimes bringing John along. Susan and Pearson stayed busy in camp, and Arthur went fishing and riding alone or with Copper more and more. No one seemed to know the answer to their dilemma, and there was no miracle cure for what afflicted Hosea. Dutch knew that well enough…after what he had suffered through with Annabelle, could he blame the man?

But it was beyond frustrating to watch Hosea wither away, and Dutch felt himself unravelling right along with him.

They hadn’t properly spoken in days, so it was a surprise to see Hosea push his way through the flaps into the tent. There wasn’t a bottle in his hand at the moment, but it was obvious he had been drinking, judging by the slight stagger of his steps.

“Hosea.” Dutch lowered his book, looking concernedly up at the other man. “How…how are you?”

“Just…dandy,” Hosea replied, his words heavy, and he wobbled a bit. “Wanted to talk.”

“Okay,” Dutch said slowly. “What about?”

Hosea opened his mouth as if to speak, but his foot caught the edge of the rug and he pitched forward instead. Dutch discarded the book to the floor, reaching out to catch Hosea’s shoulders as he dropped to his knees. His hands rested heavily on Dutch’s thighs and he huffed out a laugh.

“Guess I should…watch where I step,” he said. He leaned in more, cheek coming to rest achingly close to where the man’s leg met his hip, and Dutch’s entire body stiffened.

“What do you want to talk about?” he asked again, fingers still curled into the cloth of Hosea’s shirt. The man’s hot breath ghosted over him and he screwed his eyes shut for a moment, willing the spark in his stomach to fade.

“I’m so lonely,” Hosea whispered, his hand dragging clumsily up the leg he rested against. “I want- I _need_ her, but she’s not _here_.”

“I know,” Dutch said, and he turned his mind to Bessie, wonderful, sweet Bessie, who loved Hosea like no one else could. Or would. “She’s not been gone long yet. It’ll get better with time.”

He didn’t know what he was saying, was just repeating words he’d heard would help. Help who? Every logical thought fled his brain when Hosea tucked himself close between his legs, lifting himself up so he was nearly face to face with Dutch. The outlaw’s hands went to his hips with the intention of pushing Hosea away, but the other man didn’t budge.

“I need... _god_ , Dutch, I need….” Hosea’s hand came up, furiously wiping away tears before gripping the man’s arm. “I want to feel something again. I’m so tired of being numb.”

“Hosea….” Dutch’s tongue came out to wet his lips and he saw Hosea’s eyes follow its movement. “I don’t think,” he coughed, trying to get the words out. “I don’t think I should.”

“It’s fine, I swear, it’s fine. _I’m fine_.”

Every word of the plea was lie and Dutch knew it. When he hesitated further, Hosea let out a frustrated sound and pulled back. The distance was almost a relief, until Dutch felt his wrist get pulled forward and he suddenly found his palm pressed against the one spot on Hosea he thought he’d never touch again. He tried to jerk back, shocked, but Hosea kept his hand in place as their eyes met.

“Hosea-.”

“Please.”

He must have shown his assent in his face, for Hosea leaned in for a kiss. His lips met Dutch’s clumsily, and the outlaw was taken back to the last time he and Hosea had kissed. He hadn’t thought any such thing would be in their future, not after meeting Bessie, not after Annabelle, but here they were again….

God, how he’d dreamed of this. How he’d _fantasized_ about this.

He kissed Hosea back, hard, and palmed the man’s crotch of his own volition, causing Hosea to moan, practically arching into the touch. He was already rock hard, likely had been since entering the tent, helped along by the alcohol Dutch tasted on his tongue, but Dutch was far from close.

He broke the kiss, leaning away from confused Hosea who tried to chase his mouth until Dutch shoved him back. “Clothes,” he growled, to nervous to speak in full sentences. He began tearing at his vest and Hosea did the same, fumbling over the buttons of his cotton shirt. Dutch stripped down to nothing, then kneeled down to undo Hosea’s belt and pants as the man struggled with his shirt. Dutch’s own hands were shaking as he tugged the trousers’ down, then the underwear, and he pressed a kiss to the base of Hosea’s cock before he could think twice about what he was doing. The man above him let out a gasp, doubling over and grabbing at Dutch’s hair until it was painful. His hips jerked automatically toward the hot mouth, but the outlaw stood up again, dragging Hosea into a kiss as he sat on the bed, then lay on his back, pulling the other down on top of him and getting their legs up on the mattress.

His hand moved between them, wrapping around their cocks, and he began twisting his wrist. Hosea let out a broken moan against his mouth, thrusting needily against Dutch until the outlaw found a rhythm that worked for both of them. Hosea’s shoulders were trembling, and his head tipped down so his face was buried in the other man’s neck, too unsteady to hold himself up. His heavy breaths and almost pained whimpers were loud in Dutch’s ear, and the outlaw drank them up like whiskey.

When Hosea’s thrusts became increasingly erratic, Dutch stopped, ignoring the displeased sound he made upon the removal of his hand.

“On your back,” he said, and when Hosea failed to push himself up, and rolled them both over so he was straddling the other man’s hips. Upright again, he paused for a moment to catch his breath and observe his lover.

Hosea’s chest was heaving, sweat already soaking him and causing their skin to slip on contact. His expression was dazed, but he found Dutch’s eyes eventually and presented a weak, lop-sided smile that had the outlaw’s heart bouncing in his chest.

“Forgot how beautiful you are like this,” Dutch murmured as he repositioned himself so he could get a hand between Hosea’s thighs. The man spread his legs willingly, any sounds he made as Dutch began working him open muffled against the outlaw’s mouth. It took a while before he was able to get three fingers in without Hosea’s back becoming rigid with discomfort; undoubtably it had been a while since he’d been fucked from that angle, though Dutch didn’t doubt he and Bessie had tried some unique methods of screwing around.

 _‘Don’t think about her,’_ Dutch thought fiercely, curling his fingers so he could feel how Hosea’s spine curved and watch his mouth fall open in a silent cry of pleasure.

By the time he felt Hosea was ready, he was so hard it was almost painful; the eager way his lover responded to him was doing nothing to soften him up again. Withdrawing his hand, he shifted so he was kneeling between Hosea’s legs. There was nothing readily available to substitute for lube, so he’d have to hope a generous amount of spit and precum was enough to get them through.

“I’m going to push in, alright?” he said. He felt like an idiot for saying the words after crossing so many lines already tonight, but there was no way in hell he was going to fuck Hosea unless he got approval. He got a nod in return, and hesitantly pressed the tip against Hosea’s entrance, but then the man was crying out,

“Wait, wait,”

and Dutch recoiled back like he’d been shot.

“Okay,” he whispered as Hosea lifted his arms, reaching, and Dutch obliged, letting himself be pulled into a close embrace. Sudden sobs were cried into his chest and Dutch’s grip around the man tightened.

“Shh,” he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

“I don’t want to be sad anymore,” Hosea whimpered, sounding so broken it made Dutch’s chest ache and his stomach turn. “Why am I so…so unhappy? I’m with you, I’m with _you_.”

 _‘When was the last time I made you happy?’_ Dutch thought, tears pricking his own eyes. _‘Why would being with me fix anything?’_

“I’m here,” was all he said aloud, pressing a kiss to light blond hair that was beginning to streak with gray. “We can stop.”

“N-no,” Hosea said, suddenly panicky. “Don’t want to- I don’t want to be- don’t-.”

Dutch pushed up onto his elbows and watched Hosea struggle over the words, hands trying to find purchase on the bare chest in front of him before flying to the sides of his own head and squeezing his eyes shut.

“I don’t…want to be…empty anymore.”

Dutch’s gut twisted in his middle and a surge of determination rippled through him like a wave. He lined himself up with Hosea’s entrance again, pressing against the tight ring of muscle as the man’s eyes flew open, staring up at him.

“What do you want?” Dutch asked, his voice low. When no answer came, he gripped the fine jaw, tilting Hosea’s head up and pushing more firmly against him. “What do you _want_?”

Hosea trembled under him for a moment, then grasped the wrist holding his chin. “Fuck me,” he groaned, “Please, Dutch, fuck me. Fill me up-.”

Dutch didn’t ask again. His hand moved to Hosea’s throat and then he entered him, bringing their bodies together in one quick motion. The sound that came from Hosea’s mouth was almost reward enough, but he didn’t waste time on adjustments now, thrusting fast and hard into the other man, giving Hosea what he needed to forget about everything else. It had been a long time since they’d been together in this way, but there was a thread of familiarity, a rhythm and motion that Dutch found himself settling on as he fucked into Hosea.

The other man was gone, lost in a haze Dutch wasn’t sure was entirely because of him. His hands had slipped from their hold around Dutch’s wrist, moved to the bed to grip the sheets in a white-knuckled grasp, and his clenched teeth failed to stop the grunts that sounded in time to Dutch’s thrusts.

“H- _harder_ ,” he moaned, and Dutch complied, pounding him into the mattress roughly with the addition of his hand now. Hosea’s mouth dropped open at the touch at his cock, and the sounds he made a were mix between a sob and a scream.

 _‘Shit_.’

They were hardly being quiet at this point. Dutch wasn’t sure Hosea had enough sense now to even think about it, and there was a whole camp of people outside. After a brief second of though, he moved his hand up from Hosea’s neck to his mouth, muffling his cries. The man hardly seemed to notice, and Dutch soon recognized the way his breath changed in his chest and the sudden erratic upward buck of his hips.

“Close, darling?” he murmured, and Hosea nodded frantically against his hand, eyes wide and imploring. “Me too.”

His thrusts were stuttering now, his body too desperate to chase the feeling of his own orgasm to keep up any sort of steady pace. His hand worked faster on Hosea’s cock and he took his hand from the man’s mouth, capturing his shout in a kiss instead. Hot seed spurted onto his hand but he didn’t slow down as Hosea went rigid and his eyes rolled back, continuing to pump his lover through his own orgasm. He rutted desperately as he emptied out inside Hosea, keeping up short thrusts until it almost hurt and Hosea was writhing beneath him, whimpering at the overstimulation of his cock and ass. Pushing himself up, he finally stopped, hands bracketed on either side of the man’s head to watch him come down from his high.

When Hosea’s eyes finally fluttered half-open, two tears slipped down his face and Dutch’s chest grew painfully tight. He pulled out with a groan he couldn’t hold in, and despite wanting nothing more than to collapse into bed beside Hosea, he forced himself to get up and find a handkerchief. He wiped himself clean best he could, then Hosea, and dragged the blanket back on the bed, tucking it securely around his exhausted lover. He tugged on his pants again, then stood in the middle of the tent feeling lost.

 _Why did you do that? Yes, he asked for it, but he’s sad, he’s drunk, he just buried his_ goddamn wife _. And you fucked him. What kind of monster are you?_

A sleepy mumble came from the bed, and Dutch’s attention snapped out of his head back to the tent. He knelt down to grasp the pale hand that snaked out from under the coverings and squeezed.

“What do you need?”

Hosea turned onto his side, releasing the hand to lift the blanket a few inches, inviting. “Hold me,” he said quietly, and a lump rose in Dutch’s throat.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay.”

-

“Molly says I don’t know how to love _at all_ ,” Dutch said to the ceiling of Hosea’s little room under the stairs. He had a cigarette in his hand but it was ignored, smoldering away to ashes. “How does a person not know how to love _at all_?”

“You’ve forgotten how many times,” Hosea said from where he was reading the paper in a chair by the lamplight. “You try to find yourself in someone else and call it love.”

Dutch glared up at the chipped paint overhead. “Oh, I do, do I?”

“Quite often.” Folding the paper, Hosea set it on the crate that served as a nightstand and plucked the cigarette from Dutch’s fingers, extinguishing it on a plate. “You have an odd way of seeing love, Dutch van der Linde, but I wouldn’t say you don’t know how.”

Dutch shifted to the side, allowing Hosea to climb in beside him and lay down. He glanced over at the old man, studying the lines of his face, the gray of his hair, and the exquisite hazel of his eyes before Hosea turned down the lamp, plunging them into darkness. “I’m glad you’re on my side.”

“I’m always on your side, Dutch.”

“I know,” the outlaw murmured as Hosea settled down, pressed close in the small bed. “I know.”

Fingers brushed his chin and his lips, drawing his face in for a kiss to the cheek. “We’re almost there, you realize, almost to the superficial, idealistic love you are so confused by. A pretty little farm? Sandy beaches? That’s almost romantic.”

Dutch chuckled. “It sounds more and more appealing with each passing day. I…I wouldn’t mind being in love if that’s where we’re headed. Perhaps…we can find a house there, for just the two of us.”

“I can’t wait,” Hosea sighed, and he sounded so tired it made Dutch reach down and grasp his hand.

“Soon. I promise. This bank…it’s the last one.”

“I trust you,” Hosea said quietly, his tone filled with more conviction than it had held in a long time, and Dutch wanted nothing more than to be on a farm then, harvesting mangos if that’s what it took, just to see Hosea happy again. “Always have.”

Silence grew between them, soft and comfortable, and then Hosea leaned in, kissed him again and whispered, “Goodnight, my love.”

Dutch’s heart filled his chest at the words he hadn’t heard in so very long, and he turned his head, fighting to catch a glimpse of Hosea in the faint light from the campfire outside, but the man was already turning away to sleep.

 _‘My stars, my sun, my moon,’_ Dutch thought. _‘My rock in the stormy waves, my silver fox, my world.’_ He closed his eyes, fingers curling tighter where they were interwoven with Hosea’s. Soon they would be gone from here, their troubles in the past for good, and maybe, just maybe, they could start over. 

_‘My dearest Hosea…I can’t wait to fall in love with you again.’_

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this over the course of ten hours today. Can I not be this motivated every day?  
> Fun fact: this is the first smut I 've ever posted and it's sad smut. Great.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ni_XgUJaDtY <<< the song I had on repeat. Jazzy.
> 
> Thank you for reading :)


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